She smiled a thin smile Neil had come to understand was her alternative to screaming.

"Thank you," she said. "And now, by all means, let us go. I would not have us miss the feast you describe that awaits us at the inn at Bitaenstath."

"I would not have you miss your first taste of Hansan hospitality," the duke replied.

Muriele's smile tightened, and this time she did not reply.

And so they went on, the road taking them through fields of spelt and wheat that rose high enough to hide an army of murderers. Neil saw a malend high on a hill, its four great sails turning rather quickly in the breeze from the sea. It was the first he had seen since leaving Newland, where they were used to keep water out of the poelen. But what was this one doing? Why was it here?

As promised, within a few bells they met the Vitellian Way, the longest road in the world. It had been built by the Hegemony a thousand years before, and it stretched more than a hundred leagues from z'Irbina in Vitellio to Kaithbaurg in the north.

Neil had traveled the southern portion of the road and had found it well kept, stoutly embanked, and wide enough for two carriages to pass.

Here it was hardly more than a pair of deep wain ruts. The old Vitellian bed of the road seemed barely there.

The women stayed in saddle for a bell or so and then retired to the carriage that the Hansans had brought along with their twenty horses.

Why only twenty?

He became aware of another rider at his flank.

"Sir Neil," the young man said. "I don't know if you remember me."

"I know the name of every man in this party, Sir Edhmon," Neil assured him. "When I saw that you had joined the Craftsmen, I picked you for this duty."

"But you hardly know me, Sir Neil."

"You fought on my left flank at the battle of the waerd," Neil replied. "I do not need long walks in the gardens with you to know what I need to know."

The young man blushed. "It was my first battle," he said. "You inspired me to something I never dreamed myself capable of."

"Whatever you are, it was in you before you met me," Neil replied.

"I don't know about that," Edhmon said, shaking his head.

"Well," Neil said, searching for a reply.

They rode on in silence.

They reached the looming fortress of Northwatch while the sun was settling into a bed of high western clouds. The sky was still blue, but the slanting light was copper and brass, and the white walls of the castle, the verdance of the fields, and the still-blue sky made such a pretty picture that war seemed very far away.

And yet Northwatch, despite its sunset patina, had been built for nothing but war. Its walls were thick and from the top it would appear as a six-pointed star, so that the outside of each section of wall was defensible from the inside of another. It was a new design, and Neil reckoned the ramparts were no more than ten years old.

The keep was a different story. Its weathered and vine-etched stone formed four walls with a squat tower at each corner. Clearly a fancy new fortification had been thrown up around a very old castle.

Six riders met them, four of them in lord's plate. As they approached, they doffed their helmets, and the oldest-looking one let his horse step forward.

The carriage door swung open, and Muriele stepped out. The riders dismounted and knelt.

"It's good to see you, Marhgreft Geoffrysen," Muriele said. "Please rise; let me embrace you."

The marhgreft looked to be sixty-five at least. His iron-gray hair was cropped to his skull, and his eyes were that blue that always startled.

"Highness," he said, rising. Muriele crossed to him and gave him a perfunctory embrace. Then the marhgreft bowed again, this time to Aradal, with a good deal less enthusiasm.

"My lord," Aradal acknowledged.

"I rather expected to see you riding in from the other direction," Geoffrysen said.

"Well, if one comes, one must go back," Aradal replied.

"Not necessarily," Geoffrysen said with a wicked little smile.

"But today," Aradal replied, wagging a finger.

"Today," the marhgreft agreed. "And I'd be pleased if you would take the hospitality of my house."

"We've accommodations arranged in town," Muriele told him. "But your offer is more than kind."

Geoffrysen looked surprised. "In town? Not in Suthschild?"

"It will be too dark before we reach Suthschild and past the dinner hour," Aradal said. "No, we shall be at the Wexrohzen."

"On the Hansan side."

"I suppose it is. But can you think of a better accommodation?"

"Mine," the marhgreft said stubbornly.

"I am in good hands, Marhgreft," Muriele assured the old man. "Aradal is my escort to Kaithbaurg. I leave these matters to him."

"Better leave the watching of piglets to a wolf," Geoffrysen blurted. "Stay here, Majesty, and tomorrow let me escort you safely home."

Neil tensed and with a sidewise glance caught Sir Edhmon's eye.

"Marhgreft," Muriele said softly, "that is uncalled for. For one thing, I am not a piglet."

"Majesty, they have gathered troops at Suthschild. They are marching even now in the north."

"That will be enough, my lord," Muriele said. "I hope to enjoy your hospitality on my return."

Geoffrysen was red in the face. He swallowed hard, then nodded. "As you say, Highness."

"It is," Muriele gently agreed.

Neil could almost hear muscles relaxing. He nodded a salute at the marhgreft as they rode past.

After a moment's thought, Neil rode up alongside Aradal.

"Sir Neil," Aradal acknowledged.

"My lord. May I have a word with you?"

"Of course."

"What did the marhgreft mean by 'the Hansan side'?"

"Ah. Never been to Bitaenstath before?"

"No, my lord."

"Well, there it is."

They had been riding over an old earthwork, probably the remains of an earlier castle, but now Neil could see houses and shops. Most of them hugged the road closely, but some sprawled out from it. Beyond, perhaps a third of a league distant, he saw the towers of another castle.

"That's Suthschild, our counterpart to Northwatch," he said. "The border of our countries is out there. I think long ago there were two towns, one near each fortress, but over the years they've grown together. After all, a miller doesn't care which side buys his flour, nor a whore whose soldiers she's servicing."

"But what happens during war?"

"It hasn't come up in a hundred years," Aradal pointed out. "But castles always have villages, and villages are always at risk when war comes." He nodded. "This is Southmarket. When the marhgreft needs beer or broadcloth, it's here he'll likely get it. But if he throws a feast, he'll want mead or svartbier, and to get that he'll send to Northmarket."

"There are no border guards?"

"Do you see a border?"

Neil didn't. There was no wall, no standing stones, no pickets to mark where Crotheny became Hansa.

Most of Southmarket seemed to be shutting down for the evening, except for the inns and bierrohsen, from which issued cheerful singing and the savory scents of roasting beef. Some of the patrons had taken their cups into the street and stood in little circles, talking and laughing. Many looked like farmers, still in their sweat-soaked shirts. Others were cleaner and more neatly dressed and seemed likely to be tradesmen. The few women he saw appeared to be working, not drinking.

As they moved toward the center of town, the look of the people appeared richer. The taverns had tables and chairs outside and lanterns to keep the night away. The houses and shops were grander, too, some with glass windows. The road went from dirt to gravel to paved, and not much later they found themselves in a largish village square, which at one end had an imposing, high-timbered hall with great doors swung open and dance music playing within.